


Finding Places

by InfiniteCrisis



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bottom!Sherlock, Daddy Kink, Established Relationship, Kink Meme, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, sort of, tho I can't find the prompt again :-P
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 05:45:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InfiniteCrisis/pseuds/InfiniteCrisis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock likes to call John Daddy, John's not sure how he feels about that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding Places

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've been cleaning out my hard drive and deleting old accounts, and I thought I'd post some old stuff of mine here (at least, the things I don't find COMPLETELY embarrassing). Most of it is for kink meme prompts I can't be bothered to find again. A couple I'd actually posted on (really) old accounts (like this one), but most of them are just sitting sadly on my hard drive. 
> 
> Anyway, I thought I'd post them here, see if anyone can get a kick out of them, maybe inspire myself to finsh some of my WIPs. This one was GOING to be a big epic story, but I think I'm just gonna leave it a one shot. 
> 
> And, that's pretty much it. On with the porn!

 

 

It had started the first time they’d had sex, falling onto the bed, hands frantically undoing buttons, and Sherlock had panted _God, Daddy, fuck me_ as natural as breathing. 

 

The next day John came home from work and, exhausted and worn out, thrown himself down on the sofa and stretched out, groaning as he rubbed a hand over his tired face. 

 

“Rough day?”

 

He turned to look at Sherlock leaning against the doorframe.  He hadn’t even heard the lock. 

 

“You’ve no idea,” he sighed.  “You’re a sight for sore eyes though.” 

 

Sherlock smirked, kicking the door shut behind him as he came inside, dropping scarf and long coat haphazardly over the coffee table.  When he bent over to kiss him John couldn’t help but chuckle at the awkward angle and Sherlock made a vaguely irritated sound before getting on his knees beside the sofa.  John’s left hand rose to the back of Sherlock neck as the kiss deepened, thumb playing at the side of his jaw. 

 

They separated languidly, all soft smiles and gentle touches, still only breaths apart.  He could feel Sherlock inhale as he rubbed the side of his nose up John’s cheek.

 

“Would you like me to suck you off, Daddy?”

 

John inhaled sharply and then groaned, “Oh, fuck yes.”

 

There was a rumbling sound and he could see Sherlock’s grin, and then he was clumsily undoing his belt and trousers and finally getting himself out and his hand was in Sherlock’s hair now, half guiding, half following and Sherlock took him all the way down and it was wet and hot and _Sherlock_ and _fuck_ …

 

His fingers clenched in Sherlock’s hair and his hips gave a slight involuntary thrust.  Sherlock just moved faster, bobbing up and down as his tongue worked over John’s cock.  One long, wet suck and John was groaning, his body undulating as he pressed Sherlock’s face into his crotch. 

 

“Mmm,” he moaned.  “Good boy…”

 

Then it was Sherlock’s turn to moan, the sound muffled, but vibrations running over stretched skin and blood engorged flesh, and then suddenly John came and Sherlock was swallowing and for a second the lights went out. 

 

When John came back to himself, Sherlock was tucking him back into his trousers, smoothing the fabric and redoing his belt.  When he was done, his hands moved to his own face, wiping bits of come from the corners of his mouth and licking it off his fingers. 

 

“You’re extraordinary,” John murmured.

 

Sherlock grinned, seeming somewhat pleased with himself as he looked at John from the corner of one eye.  When he made to rise, John caught him at the collar partway up and pulled him down for a kiss.  Sherlock’s lips parted instantly, mouth opening to John as he tasted himself in Sherlock.  John finally pulled back, if only to be able to see Sherlock’s face.  Yes, definitely pleased with himself.  John smiled softly as he ran a hand over Sherlock’s collar, down the front of his shirt and back up, feeling the cool, soft fabric between his fingers. 

 

“Are you hard?”  He asked quietly, rubbing Sherlock’s collar between thumb and finger.  There was a flicker in Sherlock’s face.

 

“Yes,” he said, not only his eyes, but his whole body, seeming to glance away for a moment.  He would never describe Sherlock as shy, but there were moments…moments the man shifted with a quiet uncertainty, or perhaps insecurity, under his skin when John couldn’t think of another word to describe it. 

 

John gave a soft groan that stuck in the back of his throat and his fingers meandered from Sherlock’s collar to the skin just beside it. 

 

“God, I’m so tired,” he said, snorting at how lamenting he sounded.

 

“I know,” said Sherlock immediately, eyes returning John’s gaze reassuringly.

 

“I would...”

 

“I know,” he said again, his voice perfectly pitched to convey understanding and just that touch of levity.  John pressed his hand to Sherlock’s neck, his thumb running just to the side of his throat as the seconds ticked by.  At last he sighed, dropping his palm to Sherlock’s chest before gently pushing him back. 

 

“Go on then.  Get yourself off.”

 

Sherlock sat back on heels a moment, only the ghost of a grin still playing on his lips, and then shifted as though he were about to stand. 

 

“Let me watch.”  Sherlock froze, and John could hardly believe his own voice, the slight shock and whine instantly conveying that it hadn’t even occurred to him that Sherlock might _leave_ for this. 

 

The moments passed and John began to wonder if he’d made a mistake but then Sherlock just nodded, rubbed his hands once down his thighs and undid his belt. 

 

As he began stroking himself his eyes were cast downwards, unfocused on some invisible spot on the side of the sofa.  The strokes were long and even but out of time with each deliberate breath.  John scanned over Sherlock leisurely, looking from groin to chest to face and back down, soaking it all in.  Suddenly, as if a tiny string had snapped, Sherlock glanced up at John.  The second their eyes met, Sherlock’s snapped closed and looked away, shoulders hunching as his hand moved more frantically.  John could hear the sounds of flesh against palm gradually increasing in tempo and then Sherlock’s head began to tilt back and he licked his lips, eyes shut tight. 

 

“Are you watching?”  His voice was low and needy and John’s breath caught in his throat.  Sherlock licked his lips again.  “Daddy?  Daddy, are you watching?”

 

“Yes, I’m watching,” John said quickly and if he hadn’t been so completely spent he was sure he’d be hard again.  “I’m watching you.”

 

Sherlock groaned, throat bared, rocking on his heels as precum spurted over his fingers. 

 

“God, that’s amazing,” he said, as Sherlock ruthlessly fucked his fist, slicked by his own juices.  “You’re amazing, you’re fucking amazing, un-fucking-believable-”

 

And then Sherlock was coming, spilling himself with strangled cries and eyes clenched tight.  His back curled over himself as he gulped for air and the last shudders of orgasm ran through his frame. 

 

He stays there, hair fallen over his face, softly gasping, and John’s hand moves as though compelled, rising to run a soft strand through two fingers, reaching underneath to cup one cheek, and Sherlock leans into the touch almost like a benediction. 

 

When Sherlock opens his eyes, John lets his arm fall back to his side.

 

“I think I’ll take a nap,” he says as Sherlock cleans himself up. 

 

“Seems like a good idea.”  He stands, shaking out the fabric of his suit. 

 

“Don’t let me sleep all day.”  Sherlock just grins.

 

“Oh, don’t worry.  I won’t.”

 

John murmurs wordlessly, snuggles down into the sofa and closes his eyes, already half asleep.  He feels something soft brush against one cheek, and then a soft puff of air. 

 

“Sleep well, Daddy.”

 

 

 

 

John watched his fingers work their way in and out of Sherlock’s arse, smiling as Sherlock groaned under him. 

 

“You like that?”

 

“Mmm, yes.  Feels so _good_.”  On the last word he clenched and John felt his eyes glaze over as he saw how his three fingers slowly dragged out of him.  “I want _more_.”

 

“In a little while, when you’re all ready.”  To make his point John scissored his fingers and watched as the lubricated muscle stretched under his ministrations.

 

“But I’m ready _now_ ,” said Sherlock, arching and pressing back, displaying his spread arse to even greater effect.

 

“No, you’re not,” John said patiently.

 

Sherlock growled, hands fisting the pillow under his cheek. 

 

“I’m not a fucking virgin,” he snarled. 

 

John’s right hand came down on Sherlock’s bum so fast he didn’t even have time to think.  There was a loud crack that echoed through the room and Sherlock jerked hard at the impact. 

 

“Language.”  

 

John could see muscles tense and skin begin to redden where he’d struck.  Sherlock’s whole body was held taught for a few breaths before he relaxed again.  He’d buried his face in his pillow when he’d been struck, but now he turned his head to the side again. 

 

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” he said quietly.  “It’s just I—I just want your cock so _much_.”     

 

John took a deep breath as he felt heat boil in the pit of his stomach.  _God, what this man does to me…_

 

“And you’ll get it,” he said soothingly.  “When I say.  Now, be a good boy.”  He put a hand on Sherlock’s bottom, rubbing fondly.  Sherlock bit his lip and nodded against his pillow, then readjusted his position, shifting his arms and spreading his legs wider before settling still. 

 

John nodded faintly and refocused.  Distracted, his fingers had been left teasing just inside the sphincter, less than a knuckle deep.  Now John pushed all three fingers to the hilt, turning them sideways to make room for thumb and pinkie to rest along the crack.  Sherlock moaned and clenched around him, but didn’t move and didn’t speak.  Next, John spread his three fingers as wide as they would go, feeling the slick walls inside Sherlock bend around him before slowly pulling back out, rotating as he did so.  Sherlock panted into his pillow, then gave in and simply bit down into the fabric. 

 

When the fingers popped out completely, Sherlock gave a faint whine and his hole flared, exposing pink skin and releasing a bit of lube to drip down. 

 

John let out a deep sigh. 

 

“Alright.”  He sat back for a moment, finally taking off his pants and dropping them off the side of the bed.  Now only in his undershirt, he crawled over to Sherlock, draping across his back and pulling an arm across his chest.  His other hand reached up to glide through Sherlock’s hair.

 

“You were so good,” he murmured, kissing wetly along Sherlock’s shoulder blade.  “Good boys get rewards.  So.  How do you want it?  Anything you like.  You were such a good boy.” 

 

Sherlock pressed up against him excitedly. 

 

“Oh, Daddy, I want it _really_ hard.  The hardest _ever_ , harder and rougher than _anything_.  Fuck me so hard, Daddy.  Will you?  Will you fuck me harder than anything?”

 

John smiled into Sherlock’s skin.  “Of course I will.”

 

Sherlock gasped softly.  “Will you?  Will you really?”

 

“I said anything you wanted, didn’t I?”

 

Sherlock let out a deep groan.   “Oh, thank you, thank you, Daddy.  Thank you so _much_.” 

 

John slid his hand through Sherlock’s hair one more time and then gently pressed down, guiding Sherlock’s face even farther into the bedding.  Then he leaned back, taking a moment to carefully position Sherlock to arch his back, splay his thighs and perfectly open himself, ready for penetration.  He placed his cock at Sherlock hole, then took firm hold of a thigh in one hand and a hip in the other, and slammed inside. 

 

They both grunted from the impact but John found he couldn’t bring himself to give either of them time to recover, overwhelmed by slick heat, and he set up a punishing rhythm.  Then there was nothing but pants and grunting and the sound of flesh on flesh.  He could see his cock sliding in and out of Sherlock, the way his hips snapped against Sherlock backside, and he knew there would be bruises, though given his preparation he shouldn’t bleed. 

 

Sherlock was pushing back against him, or trying to given his lack of leverage, and then John felt Sherlock successfully meet one of this thrusts and looked over to see that he’s pressed his hands against the headboard.  Taking the cue, John put his hands on the back of Sherlock’s thighs, spreading him up and out till his ass was practically facing straight up.  Now, letting gravity help his cause, he plunged into Sherlock and was greeted with a satisfying wail from the sheets below. 

 

Sweat beaded on his brow and he tried to take deep breaths as he pressed against the body below him.

 

“Touch yourself,” he said gruffly and waited patiently as Sherlock struggled to reach down and take himself in hand.  As he started stroking with shaky, uneven motions John felt him clench around him.  That’s when he started to pull out, slowly, fighting against Sherlock’s powerful and practiced muscles.  When he was all the way out they both relaxed moment before John pressed back in and Sherlock again contracted. 

 

It was hard going, forcing himself through, but he knew it was hard on Sherlock too.  This bit, this give and take, push and pull, was another aspect of sex John had only experienced from Sherlock Holmes, but he’dtaken to it as he seemed to have taken to everything about the man.  It had seemed so natural for Sherlock to bring competition even to lovemaking. 

 

What was strange was that technically this competition was one which he ended up losing. 

 

There was a strangled cry as John completed his breach and hit his target.  A moment for them both to catch their breathes and then he began all over again. 

 

Tonight, it took only a few strokes before Sherlock gave in, allowing John to work in and out of him freely, striking at his prostate with unrelinquishing consistency until he writhed and gasped and spilled himself on the bed below. 

 

John was now left with nearly boneless flesh beneath him with which to indulge his own pleasure, relishing the relaxed muscles of Sherlock back, legs and arse under glistening, sweat slick skin. 

 

His own climax did not come suddenly.  He could feel it build at the base up his spine and watch as his thrusts began to lose their rhythm before he emptied himself into Sherlock.  He let Sherlock down gently as he pulled out, cum, lube and sweat dripping from them both.  He rubbed Sherlock down, half soothing, half checking for any signs of pain, and then collapsed next to him on the bed.

 

“How was that?” he asked softly, turning to face Sherlock. 

 

“Mmm.  Wonderful,” Sherlock replied. 

 

John opened his mouth, surely meaning to say something, but by then they were both asleep.

 

 

 

 

John woke the next morning, relaxed and well rested, to find Sherlock already stirring. 

 

“Stay a minute,” John said, reaching a hand to Sherlock’s arm. 

 

Sherlock groaned and stretched.  “I’m all sticky.  I need a shower.”

 

“Just a minute.  Please.”

 

“Why?”  But he’d already slumped back onto the bed. 

 

“I just,” he turned, leaning his head on his hand, and looked at Sherlock.  “I dunno.”  Sherlock rolled his eyes.  “I guess,” John went on, mustering himself.  “I was just wondering.  About.  Y’know.” 

 

Sherlock stared at him, blankly and somewhat condescendingly.  John sighed. 

 

“Well, we’ve been at it a week, but I am beginning to see a pattern,” he said, going for jocularity. 

 

“A pattern?”  He didn’t sound encouraging, in that way he had where John suspected he already knew what someone was thinking and wished they wouldn’t.  He forged on anyway.

 

“You know.  It’s…it’s not exactly typical sex, is it?”

 

“Typical?” He practically spat.  John cringed.  _Damn_.

 

“That’s not what I—“

 

“What’s _typical_?  Two men together at all could be considered ‘atypical.’

 

“I know, I know, what I meant—“

 

“Yes, what did you _mean_?”

 

“I just want to understand,” he said softly.

 

“Understand _what?_ ” Said Sherlock and then, betraying that he already knew, “What does it _matter_?” 

 

This wasn’t going well at all. 

 

John took a breath.  “Look, this wasn’t how I meant this at all.  Can I start over?” 

 

Sherlock’s face was hard, but finally he nodded, though he still looked suspicious and crossed his arms over his chest. 

 

John breathed out through his nose.  “Alright.  Thank you.”  He shifted his position a tad, then looked to make sure Sherlock was listening, and went on.  “I’ve mostly been with women before this.  A couple of blokes at school, but that was it.”  Sherlock looked cautiously curious now.  “What about you?”

 

There was pause.  Then Sherlock’s lips began to move, slowly, before any sound came out.

 

“Mostly men.  I think…” His voice was quiet.  “I think…yes, only two women.” 

 

John nodded.  “You prefer men?” 

 

“Do you prefer women?” Sherlock countered snappishly.

 

“Yes, I think I do generally,” John said, unfazed.  “I like…how round they are, the way they smell.  All sorts of things.”  Sherlock _hmm_ ed noncommittally and studied his hands.  “There are exceptions, of course,” John said, cringing at how overly encouraging he sounded.   

 

Sherlock snorted.  Then paused. 

 

“I have…sought out men more, I suppose.  I never really thought about it.  Women were nice but…I dunno.  Men were better.”  

 

“Fair enough,” John said, nodding agreeably.  “Two women, you said?  Hmm.  I fumbled around with…three?  Yeah, three guys.  Only got around to fucking with one of them though.  And then…um, nine women.”  He tried to keep sounding level, casual, but he did feel a bit embarrassed.  All those people had meant something in their own way, even the one-night stands, but when you added it up it came off seeming so…crass.  He fell silent, waiting for Sherlock response.

 

When none was forthcoming, John decided to try another tack.

 

“Anyway—“

 

“Thirty-six.”

 

“—what?”  John blinked. 

 

Sherlock sighed.  “Thirty-six men.  Two women.” 

 

The moments passed, and then Sherlock turned to look at John. 

 

“What?”

 

John just shrugged, looking for the right words.  “It’s just…a higher number than I was expecting for a man married to his work.”

 

Sherlock made a small noise at the back of his throat.  “This was before.” 

 

“Before…?”

 

“Work.”

 

“Ah.” 

 

John tapped his finger on his leg, then, as simply as he could, asked, “Did you call any of them Daddy?” 

 

Pause. 

 

“No.”

 

John blinked.  It actually took him a moment to realize he was stunned.  He hadn’t thought he’d been anticipating any particular answer, but apparently—

 

“None of them?” 

 

Sherlock sighed.  “No.”

 

“Wh…why?”

 

“I don’t know!”

 

John thought for a moment.  “It’s just me then.”  He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. 

 

“I…I thought about it sometimes,” Sherlock said quietly after a moment and John’s eyes swiveled to his face like some sort of homing beacon.  “It just never seemed right.  With you it seems…right.” 

 

“Hm.”  John couldn’t seem to think of anything else to say.” 

 

“Does it bother you?” 

 

John grunted slightly and the corner of his lip quirked.  “Well, apparently not overly much, given my enthusiastic response,” he said lightly.  “I just…I do wonder.”

 

“About _what?_ ”

 

“…I don’t know…”

 

“Everyone has something.  Maybe there’s a reason, maybe it’s just misfires in the brain, but if it’s not hurting anyone, _what does it matter_?”  Sherlock looked at him imploringly.

 

John was quiet for a very long moment.  “I guess it doesn’t.” 

 

Sherlock smiled and John decided to let it go.

 

 

 

 

They showered together that morning and he washed Sherlock’s hair while Sherlock sucked his cock. 

 

This was after he’d cleaned out Sherlock arse as thoroughly as was possible without an enema, in addition to the usual mutual rub down customary with this type of activity.  It had been Sherlock who had leaned against the wall of the shower, arching his back, offering himself and then moaning every time he’d added more soap or called him a ‘dirty boy,’ which proved very effective at driving him to distraction.

 

Sherlock had come twice. 

 

So, as he rinsed the last conditioner from Sherlock’s, well, locks and Sherlock sat on the bathtub floor with his knees splayed and hands between them to steady himself, much like a puppy, while happily sucking at him like he was a lollipop, John couldn’t help but feel proud to have lasted this long and simply let Sherlock’s skilled tongue push him over the edge.

 

At the last minute though, he couldn’t help the impulse to pull out and come over Sherlock’s face.  The drops fell on him as he turned into drops of cum, closing his eyes and groaning as John drew a sticky trail with the tip of his softening cock over lips, brows and cheekbones.  Hands framing the base of his neck, John took a moment to soak in Sherlock—eyes closed, mouth open, and spattered with cum—before gently tilting him back into the spray of the shower, rinsing him clean while his thumbs played at the sides of his throat. 

 

“God, you really like that don’t you,” said John, filled with some kind of awe at having this man— _this man_ —on his knees, flushed and debauched.  At his words, there was a strained groan from Sherlock and then he tilted forward, letting his head fall where John’s hip met his belly and suckling softly, wetly, against the delicate skin.  “Such adirty…” John went on, his mouth enveloping the words like precious breaths of clean air, while, like the sweetest of juices, Sherlock’s worshipped his skin as he moved up along his body.  “…filthy…” he inhaled as Sherlock bottom lip caught on a nipple, “ _nasty_ boy you are.” 

 

Sherlock tucked his head against John’s collarbone, nose resting against the curve of his neck, and inhaled deeply. 

 

“Good thing I have a Daddy,” he rumbled, soft and deep.  “To make me all clean.” 

 


End file.
